Born In The Veil Novels & Stories

So that was the blood that flowed down the man, making his appearance very exotic even though he was middle age. “But how could that be? If I am your daughter, how come my father, I mean Professor Benjamin…?” Valerie's voice was swallowed, confused. “Let me explain,” Miguel's voice was deep and authoritative. He looked at Valerie affectionately. “You are our only daughter, our beloved, created in the loving moments of my wife and I.” His strong arms embraced Vera who was sobbing there. “When you were eight months old, Vera and I were about to take you on vacation to our island. We were driving towards the airport, when the accident happened.

I had told Veil five years ago, as she whimpered in the waiting room, crying so hard that her shoulders shook. "No, he won't." I raised an eyebrow. "But he is my blood. Of course he'll—" Suddenly, her back was straight. I no longer looked down towards her thighs. "That woman’s child is also yours too, isn’t she?" The implications of her words hit me harder than any slap ever could. My hold on her shoulder went numb. "What do you mean?" I kept pressing until she told me everything. Turns out, Bramwell had been born with a weak life core, too.

Not Marcus. Distant shouts and gunfire echoed. Her captor’s hand squeezed her bare ass under the shirt. “Wake up, virgin. The fun’s just starting.

Sylvara’s voice trembles, “We’ll give what it takes, Aelys.” The oracle-entity’s aura surges at the abyss’s core, its crystalline form radiating black-star voids, its twin-void eyes blazing as it claws at Elara’s essence. “The Veil is mine!” it roars, rifts tearing through the spires, the reborn world quaking beyond the rift. Visions intensify—my village burning, my mother’s voice fading, my humanity slipping. I stagger, blade trembling, but Cassia’s hand grips mine, her fire blazing. “Aelys, you’re more than the Veil—stay with us.” Her words anchor me, my hymn rising, “Veil, guide me.”

he invites, his tone laced with a calm authority. For a brief moment, she hesitates, the weight of uncertainty hanging in the air between them. But then, drawn by an inexplicable trust, she places her hand into his, feeling the warmth of his grip as he gently guides her out. The world around them is alive with the sweet whispers of nature, the faint floral scent wrapping around her like a delicate shawl. Yet, before she can fully take in the vibrant hues of the blooming landscape, he produces a silky blindfold from his pocket.

I see the knife hover, not to kill, but to bind. A cut that seals something into the boy’s blood. Not power. Punishment. The land shudders beneath my feet. And a name rises, not spoken aloud, but forced upward through stone and root and marrow. Bloodveil is not the first name. It is the cage built around the true one. The buried name tears free of the earth. And the Hollow speaks it. CAIN Pain explodes behind my eyes. Not physical. Conceptual. Like a truth snapping into place where a lie once held everything upright.

“No—no, that’s not them. That’s—” Draven pulled her behind him, shielding her with his arm even as the air bent around the being. The earth cracked beneath its feet, every step radiating heat and static that distorted the Vale. The mountains themselves began to hum, deep and resonant, as if remembering something buried beneath their bones. “The Veil is choosing,” Kairis gasped, horror dawning. “It’s rewriting what it lost.” The creature’s gaze flicked toward her, and for an instant its face split — Kael’s profile against Rhovan’s shadow, flickering like two images caught in the same reflection.

First, the veil. From a hidden pocket sewn into the waistband of my trousers—a precaution they had missed in their rough search—I pulled a small glass vial. It was cool to the touch. Inside, a liquid swirled like mist and oil, holding shadows within it. A Mirage Veil potion. Expensive. Rare. Given to me weeks ago by a hooded figure in the market: a man who owed my father a debt and who understood the new order I would bring. “For when the walls have eyes,” the man had whispered, pressing the vial into my hand.

In those prophecies, two figures always appeared at the center of the unraveling. One was born of blood and night, bearing a heart that refused to fully still—a vampire whose shadow bent not toward dominion, but toward devotion. Wherever he walked, candles guttered without wind, and mirrors failed to hold his reflection for long, as if fate itself struggled to define him.

“Something my mother wrote in the margins of her grimoire. She never told me why, but she underlined it three times.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, worn piece of parchment. She unfolded it carefully. “‘The key must not carry life until the veil is sealed. A child born of the key will tear the veil wide open. The child’s first breath will be the last breath of the world.’” The words hung in the air. I felt the blood drain from my face. Nikolai went rigid behind me. Nora folded the parchment again, voice barely above a whisper. “She believed it was possible to seal the veil. But only if the key remains childless until it’s done. If you conceive before then… the spirits wi